An Eye for an Eye (Although in This Particular Case, It's Feathers)
by 29Pieces
Summary: Gabriel has been waiting to get his hands on that infuriating demon. He's going to make Crowley pay, and there's nothing Aziraphale can do about it, except to be there when it's over and help put his friend back together. That's what friends do. Hurt!Crowley, Caring!Aziraphale
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: A fun little follow-up to my first Good Omens story (The Enemy of My Enemy), but could also stand alone. _

_Thanks always and forever to Aini Nufire because you are the best beta reader and a truly delightful friend ^_^ _

* * *

**An Eye for an Eye (Although in This Particular Case it's Feathers)**

Aziraphale was humming to himself as he unlocked the front door of his bookshop and pushed his way in. He whistled as he shrugged out of his topcoat and hung it with the greatest of care on the coat rack by the door. He stopped just shy of singing a little ditty, but only because there weren't any off the top of his head that he knew _all _the words to.

Aziraphale was in a good mood. His day of enriching the humans' lives with small miracles had gone off without a hitch and he felt entirely back to normal after his harrowing misadventure in Turkey with Crowley.

And speaking of the devil, Aziraphale thought with a light chuckle at his own joke, he was probably here already, waiting on the angel so they could enjoy a night in with a bottle of wine that didn't know yet it was actually a vintage 1947 Bordeaux.

A minor miracle that probably wouldn't be noticed among the slew of other more important miracles for the day.

Aziraphale turned, then immediately gasped in surprise and danced two steps back from the scene he'd walked into.

Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel watched him with raised brows. Crowley watched him with golden snake eyes, normally so lovely on these rare occasions they weren't hidden behind dark glasses, but now filled with pain.

And little wonder. The demon's face was covered in bruises and blood, hair disheveled. His head was wrenched at an awful angle just to see the angel from the floor, which he was clearly having trouble getting up from for two reasons. One, his hands were tied behind his back. Two, and more distressing, his wings were flat on the floor on either side of him, and Michael and Uriel each had a foot firmly planted on the appendages to prevent him moving them or standing.

Aziraphale's mouth opened and closed several times very quickly as his mind struggled to reconcile the half of him that thought "_but this can't be happening"_ with the half of him that could see quite clearly that it _could _and _was _happening.

"Erm…"

"Aziraphale," Gabriel greeted him with far too much cheer. "You're just in time. Look who we found sneaking around your little store not fifteen minutes ago!"

o.O.o

_::: Not fifteen minutes ago :::_

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets, sauntering along as only a demon with no particular schedule can. He was a bit cross for having to _walk _the entire distance from his flat to Aziraphale's bookshop. They'd both agreed, though, that for the time being he should probably keep the highly recognizable Bentley away from the store. Just in case anyone was watching.

It'd only been a month since the archangels had put Aziraphale back together again and sent him back to Earth, and there was no telling if Crowley had raised any suspicions by more or less handing the angel off to them to be healed. Not exactly demonic behavior, that.

It had been worth it, mind you. Knowing how close Aziraphale had come to dying still made Crowley more nervous than he let on. Sure, they'd had their share of danger in six thousand years, but never anything that would do more than inconveniently discorporate either of them. Nothing like _this_ had been.

Crowley reached the bookshop at last, trying the door knob. Locked. The do-gooder was still out doing good, then.

"Well, I must say," a voice said from behind him, full of must. "You're not the one we were looking for."

Crowley straightened but didn't turn around. _Crap._

"Except, you also _are _the one we were looking for," a different voice added, not quite as mustily but doing its best. "But not here, of all places."

"Funny, that."

At the third voice, Crowley slowly turned on the spot, expressionless.

"Oh," he said by way of greeting.

Three archangels stood in a semi-circle around him, leaving the demon closed in with the bookstore now at his back. He took his hands out of his pockets, never knowing when this might come down to fisticuffs. In which case, having his hands out of his pockets wouldn't do a single bit of good anyway, not against archangels.

"What a great day," Gabriel said, now more cheerful than musty. There was a savageness in his smile. "I've been hoping to run into you, demon." The archangel reached towards Crowley's face.

"Hey-" Crowley instinctively tried to shove Gabriel back, but Michael and Uriel grabbed his arms so he couldn't stop Gabriel from plucking the dark glasses off, exposing his snake eyes.

Not that it mattered, Crowley thought with a dark growl as he tried to shrug the other two off of him and failed miserably. The street corner was crowded with people who hadn't so much as looked their way, so the archangels were certainly ensuring none of the humans thought too hard about the scene.

But it _did _matter, and he fixed a slit-eyed glare on Gabriel. "What do you want?"

Gabriel's face grew colder, if that were possible. He held the glasses up and snapped them in half, either just to be mean—which was very likely—or because he was imagining it was actually Crowley's spine—which was even more likely—then tossed the pieces into the street. "You really have to ask?"

"Your precioussss angel issss fine," Crowley snapped, remembering to hiss like the scary demon he'd been during their last encounter. "I wasss jussst... ssssnooping around while he wasss out."

"You think this is about Aziraphale?" Gabriel waved a hand. Behind Crowley, a door lock clicked and then he was being hauled backwards by the other two into Aziraphale's book shop.

If they would let go of him just for a few seconds, maybe Crowley could escape down into Hell. He figured they wouldn't chase after him _that _hard. On the other hand, he realized nervously, he'd severely wounded Gabriel's pride at their last encounter, and that was probably about to come back and haunt him. Oh hell, he was in real trouble now…

"Yesss, I imagine you'd be at leassst a little concerned about your bessst angel," Crowley couldn't help but fire back as Gabriel locked the door again.

"'Best' might be an exaggeration," Michael suggested with a shrug.

Gabriel cracked his knuckles. "You took something from me," he said, a dangerous smile sliding back onto his face. "And you're going to really wish you hadn't."

"Can't we be reasssonable-"

"Shut it, demon," Uriel snapped. She and Michael yanked Crowley's arms behind him, something winding around his wrists.

"If it'ssss a feather for your collection you want-"

When an archangel punched, they punched _hard_. Crowley staggered from the force of Gabriel's fist, falling against Michael.

"When she says to shut your stupid mouth, you shut your stupid mouth," Gabriel advised with the same pasted on smile. "You better believe I'll be taking a feather for my collection. I've got a lot of trophies on my wall, but," he chuckled, "I must admit yours will be the most satisfying."

"Takesss three of you, I notice," Crowley snorted through gritted teeth, feeling sweat beading at his temples. The second to last thing in the world he wanted was for Gabriel to take one of his feathers—a humiliating symbol that he'd been thoroughly trounced by the archangel. But the _very last _thing he wanted was death. There was a good chance both would be happening in the next few minutes.

_Angel_, he thought, but couldn't decide if he was hoping Aziraphale showed back up, or stayed far away until it was over. It wasn't like there was anything the angel could do to stop this, and it might upset him to see.

There wasn't much time to finish his thoughts anyway, as Gabriel's ridiculously well-swung fist found Crowley's cheek again.

"We'll get to the feathers," Gabriel assured him. Crowley, spitting out blood, didn't like the use of the plural. "First, a little reminder that you and your kind are at the bottom of the food chain, hmm?"

Crowley wasn't aware of much for the next ten minutes, beyond how badly everything hurt and how unfair this fight really was. At some point he ended up on the floor, and at some point Gabriel miracled the demon's wings out, and at some point he tried to fight back just on principle. It went over about as well as the 14th century had.

The demon growled as he tried to shake Michael and Uriel off of him, hating the feeling of _literally _being under their heels as they pinned his wings to struggle anxiously on the floor. Gabriel nudged him with a toe, slipping his foot under Crowley's chin and forcing it up to look at him, and Crowley hated that even more.

"Ready to say 'uncle'?" Gabriel asked cheerfully.

Honestly he'd been ready to say it from the second the three had set upon him, but Crowley did have a little pride. He gritted his teeth. Somewhere to his left, Michael ground her heel in harder against his wing and Crowley again tried to wrestle free, quite uselessly.

Then the bell over the door rang, and Aziraphale waltzed into the bookstore.

o.O.o

Aziraphale composed himself as quickly as he could, recognizing with some ease that this was a very bad situation indeed. He didn't know if he and Crowley's fraternization had been found out or if this was purely coincidental, so didn't dare reveal too much. What in Heaven's name had they _done _to his demon friend?

"What, ah… what's going on?" he asked carefully, directing the question to Gabriel but keeping his eyes on Crowley. The demon shook his head ever so slightly in warning.

"What's going on?" Gabriel repeated with exaggerated cheer. "What does it look like? We caught this demon trying to break in. You're welcome."

"Surely you're delighted that we were able to stop him from whatever evil he was planning here," Uriel prompted. Her eyes were a little too narrowed.

Aziraphale coughed. "Well, yes, of course. Quite right. Yes, er- very good, then. Now then, foul fiend, let this be a warning for you, not to come around _here _anymore," he said sternly, wagging a finger in the demon's direction.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

Nodding with satisfaction, Aziraphale turned to the others and smiled nervously. "Right, I think, ah, I think he's learned his lesson, and good show, so… I suppose we'd best 'kick him to the curb' now, eh?"

"No," Gabriel replied. "In fact we were just getting to the good part."

"Oh. Well… that is to say…" Drat, this was very bad. Azirpahale wiped sweaty palms on the front of his vest and swallowed. Urging the archangels too insistently to release Crowley would rouse their suspicions, but at the same time he could hardly stand by and allow them to _hurt _the demon.

Instinctively, his eyes flicked back to Crowley, who again shook his head almost imperceptibly. Expressive as ever, his face clearly read _don't get involved_.

"Then let's… get it over with," Aziraphale finally decided. "I don't like him being in here. So let's give him a good talking to and send him on his way."

"A good talking to?" Michael repeated in disbelief. "How have you managed to thwart him for so long with such a weak constitution?"

"Without any violence, I'm proud to say. I simply use my superior knowledge and-"

"And that's exactly why he was able to kidnap you before," Gabriel interrupted, shaking his head in disgust. "Honestly, Aziraphale."

"Well," Aziraphale muttered to the floor, "one might argue that was because a monster had drained most of my life force away…" And Crowley had saved his life, and this was his repayment? Aziraphale was an awful friend. But he didn't dare look too apologetic.

Gabriel turned his back on the angel and gestured to Michael. She smiled with really too much anticipation than one of the good guys ought and knelt to yank Crowley's wing off the ground.

With his wing bent back at a clearly painful angle, Crowley grunted and jerked as though trying to pull away. It did no good of course, the poor dear. Aziraphale felt an anguished wince cross his face before quickly putting it away. He knew right where this was going, but bit his tongue as Gabriel gripped the outermost pinion feather and paused.

"This is going to hurt you _way _more than it hurts me."

And he yanked, _hard_, ripping the feather out of Crowley's wing. For his part, the brave little demon didn't make a sound, though the spasm of pain and reflexive jolt backwards was more than enough for Aziraphale to know that it _had _hurt, and quite awfully.

"There," Crowley rasped, breathing heavily. "You got what you came for-"

"Now Michael, one for you."

"_What_?" Crowley strained harder, but he really was held quite tightly. There was nowhere to escape to as Michael snatched at another beautifully sleek, black primary and ripped it out. This time, Crowley couldn't fully swallow back a muffled sound of pain, starting to breathe heavier as Michael straightened with a gleeful smile, feather clenched in her fist.

"Uriel."

Aziraphale took a step forward, but Crowley's golden eyes shot to him warningly, so the angel stopped. His fists clenched tight, watching anxiously as Uriel leaned over to the wing bent up at the wrong angle.

"It's been a while since I added a trophy to my collection," she mused. Taking a feather in her fist, she paused for a second, though Aziraphale was certain it was more for the cruelty of the suspense than to allow Crowley time to brace. From her angle, she couldn't pull the feather straight up, but tore it out from the side.

This time Crowley's cry of pain wasn't remotely bitten back; Aziraphale felt it in his heart. The demon shuddered and gasped, writhing on the floor as Uriel chuckled and ran the feather through her fingers. Crowley's poor wing was looking quite bedraggled now, what with three of the primaries missing. But now at least they'd had their fun, hopefully they would decide to let the demon go rather than kill him…

"Ssssatissfied yet?" Crowley hissed, oddly sibilant. He took in another shuddering breath and tried to weakly struggle free again. Gabriel only smiled, looking colder than Aziraphale had ever seen him.

"Almost," he said smugly.

Azirpahale eyed the archangel warily as he moved towards him to clap a hand on his shoulder.

"Get one."

The angel's heart gave an awful jolt. Oh now _really_, this was going too far. He'd bitten his tongue and forced himself not to reveal any concern for the demon, but this absolutely crossed the line.

"Oh," he stammered, avoiding looking at a now very still and silent Crowley. "I- I… I don't know about this. Really I've never approved of this custom, you know. Quite barbaric, taking feathers from defeated enemies, and I don't think it would be-"

"Take a feather, Aziraphale." Gabriel beamed but his eyes were dangerous. "Think of it as extra security. Any other demons see your trophy, they'll know better than to try anything."

"Yes, but, you see…" He was out of ideas, short of flat out refusal. Aziraphale drew himself up. He couldn't do this. Even if it meant finding himself in quite severe trouble himself.

"Oh jussst do it, angel," Crowley suddenly spat out. "We both know you've been waiting for thisss ssince the Dark Agesss."

Aziraphale finally looked back down at the demon. His heart clenched at the notion that Crowley might actually believe that—but he couldn't, could he?—and then it hit him that the sudden fear in the demon's eyes wasn't _of _Aziraphale, but _for _him.

"Do it," Crowley hissed again.

Even now, the demon was trying to protect him…

"Is there a problem, Aziraphale?" Michael asked.

Aziraphale continued to regard Crowley, but the demon didn't blink. Resolving himself, Aziraphale clenched his jaw and approached his pinned "enemy". When he reached for one of the covert feathers, thinking at least it wouldn't be such a devastating loss, Gabriel grabbed his wrist to direct him towards the primaries instead.

"You've really never taken a trophy before," he snorted. "One of _these_."

"Well, really," Aziraphale replied as he pulled his wrist free. "Those are flight feathers and he's already lost three of them. Surely-"

"That's the whole idea! Honestly, how you've kept this post all these years is somewhat of a mystery to me. Those are the ones you're _supposed _to take. That way, anyone who sees him will know he was defeated. Four times, no less. He'll be quite the laughingstock in Hell," Gabriel chortled, before growing suddenly serious. "If you can't do this, I'm going to seriously start to question the wisdom of keeping such a squeamish angel at such an important post."

"Yes, very well," Aziraphale sighed, carefully reaching for one of Crowley's primaries instead. He shot the demon an apologetic look, but Crowley's bruised face was expressionless, resigned. It made Aziraphale nauseous. "Just a little pinch…"

As gently as he could, the angel plucked the feather straight out, relieved when Crowley gave no more than a light shudder though his wings had to be dreadfully tender by now.

"There, now was that so hard?" Uriel asked.

Aziraphale didn't reply more than a nervous half-smile, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to contain the explosion on the tip of his tongue. The angel wasn't normally one for violence and rude words, but if he was let loose now, he'd say some things that would make even Lord Beelzebub gasp with shock.

"Now then, demon," Gabriel said, puffed out like a preening bird. "Next time you think about trying to cause trouble, just remember how low you are. Even Aziraphale has a trophy from you. Just think about _that_."

Crowley didn't answer, which Aziraphale thought wise. At any rate, it sounded as though they did intend to let the demon live, thank Heaven. He just wanted them to go, so he could start trying to fix the damage they'd caused. Carefully, the angel set the feather he'd taken out on the nearby desk, mindful not to ruffle the edges. It sat there glossy and obsidian. A piece of Crowley. A piece that Aziraphale had had no right to take.

He felt sick again.

A thought occurred to him then, and Aziraphale straightened. It was risky, bordering reckless, but Crowley had gone out on a limb for _him_, after all. Determined to play his part as masterfully as the demon had, Aziraphale smiled at Gabriel and grasped his hand.

"I must thank you," he said earnestly. "Keeping an eye on the store for me, teaching this _scoundrel _his proper place."

Both Crowley and the archangels stared at him, but Aziraphale didn't break character.

"He won't _dare _show his face here again," the angel went on. "Thank you for the assistance." And without giving Gabriel a second's warning, Aziraphale leaned in close and wrapped his arms around the archangel.

"Whoa, uh, what- what are you doing?" Gabriel demanded, trying to back up only for Aziraphale to move with him.

"It's a hug," the angel explained cheerfully, nuzzling his face into Gabriel's shoulder. "A delightful human custom."

"Delightful? This is most irregular, Aziraphale, I must insist you-"

Aziraphale had already broken away from him, though, pouncing next on Michael, who yelped and let go of Crowley's wing, though the demon didn't move.

"I don't understand this custom… _Aziraphale_, what in Heaven's name has gotten into you?"

"It's a sign of greatest respect," the angel assured her, squeezing carefully with the same broad smile. "Thank you, my dear."

"You may thank me from there," Uriel snapped as Aziraphale released Michael and turned to the final archangel. She held up a hand warningly, glower darkening. "I insist-"

"As do I, I must thank you properly," Aziraphale chuckled, sliding in as close as he could and wrapping her in a firm embrace. He felt Uriel trying to pull away and was mindful not to hold on too long, lest she discorporate him. She would do it, too.

"I really don't know about you," Gabriel grumbled, eyeing the angel with a sidelong glare as he pointedly tugged his suit coat straight. "Perhaps you _have _been down here too long…"

"We'll be in touch," Michael assured him with a grimace as she flicked invisible dust off her own jacket. With a snap of her fingers, Crowley's wings disappeared, hands freed at last. He tried to push himself up, and it cost Aziraphale another pang in his heart to see the demon's limbs trembling with the effort.

"We've learned something, yes?" Gabriel asked Crowley, taking him by the back of his neck and hauling him up.

The demon only glared at him wordlessly, not making a sound as the archangel marched him to the door, opened it up, and threw him out into the street. Aziraphale had to grit his teeth so hard to keep his smile in place that it felt like he was going to break something in his face.

Or perhaps break something in Gabriel's face.

When he looked again, Crowley was gone.

o.O.o

Crowley hunched against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He was nursing his fourth bottle of whatever he'd imagined up for himself—he wasn't paying attention to details anymore—and was in such a state that he didn't even care what the nearby plants would think.

Four feathers in a single day, that had to be a record, Crowley thought bitterly. Though, the soberest part of his mind considered to itself, at least he was alive. In the old days, trophies had been taken along with enemy heads.

That wasn't much comfort for his throbbing wing, though. They looked positively awful with such a huge chunk of primaries gone. Not to mention the one that Uriel had taken had been yanked out at a bad angle, damaging blood vessels so that he'd bled onto the other feathers and was having a difficult time washing it away when he was more or less totally sloshed.

And it _hurt, _and his face hurt because he couldn't fix it because bruises left by archangels couldn't just be magicked away, and his pride hurt, and he was going to lose every bit of credibility he had in Hell if anyone saw him like this.

Somewhere towards the front of his flat, Crowley heard someone knock softly on the door.

"Ngh," he muttered, not about to get up and make an even bigger fool of himself when he couldn't walk straight.

The someone at the door knocked again, more insistently this time, but still Crowley didn't get up. He already knew who it was, anyway.

Sure enough, after another short pause, he heard the quiet _snick _of a deadbolt being miracled back.

"Crowley? Crowley, dear, are you home yet? Oh please be here…"

Crowley suddenly wished he'd gotten himself another pair of dark glasses, but he was too drained to do anything about that now, so instead stared dully at the floor as Aziraphale peeked around the corner and then gasped.

"Oh, Crowley, thank goodness."

"Go away, angel."

Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a hand finding Crowley's cheek and gently tilting his head up. Crowley didn't fight him; it would take too much effort. Aziraphale looked wretched, his eyes notably damp.

"My dear, can you ever forgive me?" the angel asked, rather hopelessly. "You know I didn't mean it, not a single word. I never wanted you to get hurt. You do know that, don't you?"

Crowley snorted. "If you had to kill Satan himself, you'd still be fretting about what a shame it was. I know you didn't mean it."

"Here, hold still. I can at least take care of the blood."

A damp cloth was suddenly clutched in the angel's hand, which he used to gingerly dab at the split skin on Crowley's face. The demon winced but didn't pull away. Aziraphale's jaw tightened in uncharacteristic anger.

"This was cowardly," he practically growled.

Crowley sighed. "Best not say things like that out loud, angel."

"Well, it _was_. Three archangels on one demon, hardly sporting. This was wrong."

"I started it," Crowley muttered. "I took one of his first. He traded it to save you."

Aziraphale shushed him. "Doesn't matter. You didn't deserve _this_."

Crowley didn't respond, letting the angel clean the blood away. Alcohol muddled his brain and the pain wasn't helping with that, either. He was vaguely cognizant that he'd brought his wings out some time after the second bottle in a failed attempt to groom what was left of them, and thought about putting them away again. But coordination had become rather a bit of an issue.

And though he rationally knew the angel was only there to help, and even though he himself had all but insisted Aziraphale play along, it didn't change the fact that their dynamic had shifted. Aziraphale had a trophy now, and it was one of Crowley's, which meant they weren't equals here. Emotion bubbled up and the demon turned his head.

"What're you gonna do with yours, anyway?" he slurred. "Mount it over the door? Or carry it with you in case you need to keep me in line?"

Aziraphale reeled back, eyes wide. "_Crowley_…"

The incredulity in his voice made Crowley feel bad. It never took much from the angel to make him get all feely. It was most inconvenient.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean that. I need to- to sober up." But that would take as much concentration as putting his ruined wings away, so he didn't bother. At any rate, Aziraphale had leaned back in, a hand firmly taking Crowley's shoulder.

"I had to take it," the angel said, "but surely you never imagined I would _keep _it? I think I can fix it, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Crowley said glumly, though privately with a spark of intense relief that Aziraphale didn't really intend to hold onto the feather. Of course he wouldn't, and Crowley had been a blind idiot to even suggest otherwise, because it was _Aziraphale_. "The other three will take _ages _to grow back and I can't avoid Hell for that long. They're all going to see it and they're all going to know." And demons with any signs of weakness did not fare well when it came to the other demons. The protection he'd awarded himself by taking a trophy off Gabriel wouldn't be enough for this.

"Oh!" Aziraphale cried, reaching into his coat. "How batty I am! I'm sorry, dear, I was so upset by what they did to you that I forgot to say!"

"Angel, what are you on about, because I'm too tired for…" Crowley trailed off, staring in outright shock as Aziraphale held out not one but four enormous black feathers that had been tucked with obviously painstaking care inside his coat.

They were all his, he could see right away, not even ruffled. Crowley looked from the feathers to the angel then back again, mouth moving soundlessly as he took them back.

"But… how?" he finally asked. "Why would they give them back? Please tell me you didn't ask them to, have you any idea how suspicious that would be?"

"Now really, of course I didn't ask for them back." Aziraphale puffed up, looking positively proud of himself. "I stole them."

"You _what_?"

"Stole them. Right before they tossed you out. Been practicing my sleight of hand, you see. And you said it was a _useless hobby_…"

"You…" Crowley stared at him again, then finally started to smile as he closed his eyes. "I _thought_ the hugs were a little over the top."

"They were so busy being uncomfortable, they didn't even notice. It might take me a moment but I'm quite sure I can heal your wing good as new."

Crowley opened his eyes and regarded the angel, feeling both warmth and cold settle into his chest. "Aziraphale," he said seriously. "You can't be doing things like this. It's too dangerous. What are they going to do when they realize you've nicked the feathers back, eh?"

"Me? You're the wily serpent, after all," Aziraphale replied with a shrug. "I'd wager they'll all three pretend they've still got theirs, because who wants to admit they were outwitted by an enemy while he was tied up and outnumbered? No no, they'll make sure it never comes up." The pleased smile slipped away. The angel hung his head. "Besides, I couldn't stand by, Crowley, I just couldn't. If the other demons saw… it would be like sharks to blood. You would be in such dreadful danger, and I… I couldn't bear knowing it was my fault, because I took one, too."

Lifting his eyes almost shyly, with great unhappiness, Aziraphale asked, "Can you forgive me, dear?"

Damn it all. "You know I can," Crowley grumbled. "I can't be angry with you." And it was because of infuriating times like this, when the angel was so hopelessly _good_ that Crowley honestly worried for him. And because then Aziraphale would look at him like _this_, so relieved, so damn innocently relieved because the truth was that Crowley was the only friend who cared about Aziraphale for real and the angel didn't want to lose that.

Suddenly, Crowley didn't regret having goaded Gabriel into this. The prick deserved it.

"Alright then," Aziraphale said, picking up the damp cloth again and holding out a hand. "May I?"

Crowley dipped his wing forward into the angel's waiting hand, closing his eyes once more as he felt Aziraphale start to gently—ever so damn gently—wash the blood away. It still hurt, but the angel was taking such obvious pains to be careful that Crowley eventually felt the ache fade to the background.

"You're sure they aren't watching?" he eventually asked as Aziraphale took one of the feathers and held it in its place along the wing.

"Mm," the angel hummed. "I stopped in several restaurants first. They find eating to be so dull and pointless, I'm sure anyone watching will have lost interest by now. That's why it took me so long. And now that I'm here, our natures probably cancel each other out, so we should be off the radar as long as no one looks too hard. Though I'm afraid we'd do well to keep our distance for a while again, after. Just in case."

Crowley nodded, watching Aziraphale concentrate hard on his wing. Soft white light glowed from his palm, slowly starting to fuse the feather shaft back into the follicle where it belonged. It wasn't a quick or easy fix, but Aziraphale was quite a bit more powerful than the archangels gave him credit for. It took some time, but finally he sat back with a satisfied nod.

"Excellent. That's one. Do hand me another, dear."

Wordlessly, Crowley did so. The alcohol was still buzzing around in his head, making it too hard to get out the "thank you" that was on the tip of his tongue but couldn't quite be said.

When Crowley did say it, it wouldn't be in so many words. It would be in little things, like having a mug of cocoa with Aziraphale even though he really didn't care for the stuff, or making sure the angel didn't lose himself in a book and miss an important miracle. It would be in the big things, like protecting him from French Revolutions and old-world monsters, or treating him like he was an angel with actual value instead of a replaceable pawn.

As Aziraphale slowly put him back together, Crowley found himself growing sleepy under the healing ministrations.

"Are you tired?" the angel fretted. "You do still look awful, I'm sorry to say."

"Thanks."

"Why don't you close your eyes for a bit? I should be done by the time you wake. If you trust me, that is."

He did. Crowley half smiled, lids finally falling shut. He did indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sarahenaney on AO3 brought this little bunny to my attention and it was so lovely I had to tag this onto the end of the story ^_^_

_Just a wee bit of fluff!_

* * *

Crowley didn't want to open his eyes.

Everything hurt. Not the sharp, agonizing stabs of pain from the day before (at least he _assumed _it was the next morning, but he also knew what assuming made out of people). Rather it was a dull ache that subtly throbbed somewhere persistently in the background, from his face all the way to the tips of his wings.

It didn't help that his wings had been out all night and that he'd slept sitting against the wall, so now they were stiff and uncomfortable. Crowley was almost afraid to look at them. His head hurt more than the rest of him, pounding with the rhythmic reminder that said _CROWLEY YOU DRANK AN AWFUL LOT CROWLEY YOU DRANK AN AWFUL LOT CROWLEY _as though he needed _that _on top of everything else.

Point being, he'd been drunk as anything the night before and might very well have imagined what he thought was a visit from the angel.

So if he opened his eyes and looked at his wings they might actually still look like the archangels had gotten their hands on him. His feathers would be gone, and Aziraphale would have one of them which would do awkward things to their friendship, but it wouldn't matter because as soon as he stepped foot in Hell he'd probably be mistaken for a really tasty snack and die slowly anyway.

Crowley fancied none of these things. But really, how long could he be expected to sit there on the floor without moving because he was too scared to open his eyes? Best to buck up and just get it over with, figure out what he was dealing with, and go from there.

Crowley peeled his eyes open, gaze tracking over to the draping wing that had been ripped apart by the archangels.

His mouth curved up into an achy smile.

"Angel," he murmured with the same fondness that had gotten him into all this trouble to begin with. All ten primaries were exactly where they were supposed to be, sleek black and undamaged like they had never been plucked out at all. He didn't want to think about how much energy it must have taken, but Aziraphale had managed to completely heal his wing.

Straightening slowly with a groan, Crowley disappeared his wings and painfully twisted this way and that in search of Aziraphale. The angel was nowhere to be found. Just as well, because if their mere fraternization was so dangerous for both of them, then Aziraphale _staying the night at his flat _would be something akin to… well, suicide.

The smile slid away to the delightful accompaniment of bruises on his face screaming at him for moving too much. Yeah, they were going to have to steer clear of each other for a while. But Crowley would obviously have to keep an eye out from a distance, because he still wasn't convinced the archangels wouldn't figure out what Aziraphale had done, and God- Lucif- SOMEONE help him, if he ever saw Aziraphale as banged up as Crowley felt right now, he would make it his life's work to _end _Gabriel.

So he really hoped the archangels never figured it out, because honestly how was _he _supposed to do anything about three archangel bullies?

Crowley shifted, thinking about getting off the floor, and only then did he notice—and really it was embarrassing how long it had taken him—that he was holding something he knew he hadn't been holding the night before.

Looking down, the demon's fingers uncurled.

"Angel," he whispered for the second time that morning, heart thumping somewhere in the region of his throat where it wasn't supposed to be.

The feather was small. Too small to be a primary, a gleaming white covert feather that he recognized immediately as Aziraphale's. It was warm in Crowley's hand, like it was considering burning him because it was holy and pure, but had decided against it because feathers didn't do that sort of thing.

A piece of paper was folded around the shaft, which Crowley scrambled to unroll now without letting go of the soft white feather.

_"Crowley dear"_, it read, _"thought it best not to stay too long in case anyone started looking. Your wing should be good as new but do try to take it easy for a day or so, won't you? We'll have to be dreadfully careful for a while. In the meantime, you hold onto this. In case you were worried anything had changed, you know, and of course it hasn't. –A"_

Crowley looked back at the feather, feeling its lightness in his palm. A covert wasn't a trophy, so cost Aziraphale nothing, but that was the point: neither of them needed or wanted to have any power over the other. Equal footing. The one thing Crowley was afraid they might have lost.

Swallowing back some stupid emotion or another, the demon clambered stiffly to his feet and grabbed his phone. He didn't know any phone numbers because who has the time, but that was okay because his phone would call whoever he imagined it calling. And right now, Crowley was imagining the bookshop with all his might.

"Yes, hello?" Aziraphale soon answered in the voice of one clearly still lodged firmly in a book.

Crowley opened his mouth to say something suave and clever, but all that came out was a choked, "Angel…"

"Crowley?" Aziraphale immediately replied. "Are you alright, my dear? I'm terribly sorry to have left you there like that, but…"

The demon swallowed, forcing himself to get it together, or at least to sound like he had, even though no one in the world _really _had it together if we were all being honest.

"You, uh… left something here," his mind finally came up with as evidence of "having it together". It wasn't very strong evidence.

Aziraphale paused for a second. "Yes. Listen now, I know what happened was awful and might be on your mind for a while…"

"You didn't have to do that, angel. I don't need it. I'm really alright."

"Oh, Crowley, you asked me if I was going to keep yours with me to… 'keep you in line'. Forgive me for saying, but you're not alright."

Yeah… Crowley vaguely remembered he'd said something to that effect, and he cringed now to hear how it sounded. For crying out loud, this was _Aziraphale _they were talking about. If he'd _actually _done that, it would have been Crowley's cue that the real Aziraphale was in trouble somewhere.

"I say lots of things when I'm drunk," he groused irritably to cover the embarrassment at having said something so stupid. "Doesn't mean I really thought it."

"Yes, well, I want you to hold onto it anyway. I trust-" The angel stuttered slightly, then recovered, and Crowley could almost hear him blushing. "I trust you, Crowley. At any rate, it's just a small one, doesn't mean anything. Just like everything else that happened. But, so you know that of course I would never- I mean, I couldn't… I- oh drat, you know what I'm trying to say, don't you?"

Crowley had been pacing as they talked, but now collapsed carefully down onto his chair, kicking one leg over the arm and leaning back with a sigh. "I know." And while he was trying to pretend like he was still the toughest thing around, hearing Aziraphale say so was everything he needed. He realized he was still holding the feather, perhaps a little too tightly, so set it on his leg to keep it from getting crushed. It sat, so shining white that it practically glowed. Not unlike Aziraphale himself.

"And you know they were wrong, don't you, dear? You're not beneath them. Well, that is to say, they _are _archangels so technically we're all of us quite a bit lower on the hierarchy. But that doesn't mean they're _better_, and in fact sometimes I quite wonder if they ought to be down several pegs—that is, not that I would ever say so, but really."

Crowley bit back a smile, amused as always when the angel started his nervous babbling. Already, he was feeling so much better. He cupped his palm beside the feather and blew out forcefully, creating a gust of wind that sent the feather swirling into his open hand.

"They were wrong about you too, you know," he suddenly said, though he hadn't planned on it.

"What's that?"

"Gabriel. And the others. They were wrong about you. Took everything I had to bite my tongue, those idiots. Squeamish… weak constitution… not to mention-" Crowley stopped short of going off about how reluctant Gabriel had been to ransom Aziraphale back in the first place, when Crowley had been forced to pretend like he was holding the angel hostage. The archangel had made it clear that Aziraphale was replaceable, when in fact he was not.

But Aziraphale had been unconscious for all of that, and Crowley couldn't bring himself to tell the angel how little his own side thought of him. Aziraphale didn't deserve that.

"Oh," the angel chuckled. "It's quite alright. I mean, you must admit, compared to the archangels, I'm _hardly _a-"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Compare yourself to the archangels. You're nothing like them."

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. Crowley waited, watching the soft white feather sit in his palm, curving gently like a little smile, with a pearly finish that stood out even in the darkened room. The downy barbs at the bottom fuzzed softly outwards. It was still warm, but still not burning, more like the way a heart felt when met with kindness.

"Well…" Aziraphale finally said, "Thank you."

"Ngh. I gotta go, angel. Just wanted to call and… you know… say…"

A thousand things he could say danced on the tip of his tongue, but nothing really came out. The beat of silence stretched on uncomfortably until Aziraphale chuckled slightly.

"Of course, my dear. And likewise, I'm sure. Right. Toodle pip."

"Oh, and-" Crowley started, but the angel had already hung up. Crowley looked at the phone, then tossed it aside. With both hands now free, he carefully ran the feather between his thumb and forefinger. They were still friends. They were still equals. And the day was coming, he was more and more starting to believe, where they might be all the other had.

Until then, at least he had _this_ as an unspoken promise.

To the empty room, Crowley finished what he'd been about to say:

"Thanks."


End file.
